I Was Mistaken for the Reincarnated Evil Overlord

Darin had exactly one second to decide.

And in that one second, his survival instincts screamed at him.

Varian was faster, stronger, and more experienced. There was no way he could win this on skill alone.

Which meant—

He needed every advantage he could get.

The Overlord hummed in satisfaction.

"Ah. You're finally listening."

Darin inhaled sharply. "Fine."

A pulse of something dark and powerful rippled through his veins.

His vision sharpened.

His grip on the warhammer steadied.

And for the first time since he woke up—he wasn't afraid.

Varian's expression darkened. "What did you just do?"

Darin smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

The audience erupted in excitement.

The scribe wrote even faster.

"The Overlord smirks, his aura shifting. A sinister power awakens"

'…'

'…'

Meanwhile, both steve and grumble dissapeard for some reason (definitely did not roach out).

Varian had no patience left. He lunged forward, and the fight began.

Varian swung first.

A massive, glowing arc of raw aura exploded from his greatsword, tearing through the ground as it streaked toward Darin.

Darin barely had time to dodge.

He rolled aside as the attack obliterated the ground where he had just stood. A shockwave blasted through the arena, kicking up dust and debris.

Darin coughed. "Oh COME ON! THAT'S NOT FAIR!"

Varian was already charging.

"You wanted this fight, imposter!"

Darin swung his warhammer upward, fast.

CLANG!

The weapons clashed, sending out a wave of force so strong it rattled the arena walls.

Darin staggered back. His arms felt numb.

Varian smirked. "You're weak."

Darin scowled. "And you're overcompensating."

Varian's eye twitched.

The audience roared with laughter.

Varian, fueled by rage and possibly deep-seated personal issues, went on the offensive.

SLASH— The greatsword came down with horrific force.

Darin barely sidestepped, the blade grazing his side. Blood splattered onto the sand.

Darin hissed. "Okay—ow."

Varian did not stop. He twisted, bringing the sword around in a brutal horizontal slash.

Darin ducked—just barely. The sheer force of the swing tore a chunk out of the arena wall behind him.

The nobles screamed.

One unfortunate merchant dropped his tray of pastries.

Greta, unfazed, took a bite of her bread. "Ah, good form."

Darin gritted his teeth. "IS EVERYONE JUST IGNORING THE FACT THAT I ALMOST DIED?!"

Varian lunged again.

Darin, instead of dodging, stepped forward.

And swung his warhammer directly into Varian's ribs.

CRACK.

The impact sent shockwaves through the battlefield. The ground beneath them split apart.

Varian staggered, eyes widening for a fraction of a second.

Darin grinned, breathless. "Not so fun, is it?"

Varian wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth.

Then he smirked.

"You hit like an angry toddler."

Darin immediately regretted everything.

Varian moved faster than should be legal.

Darin had zero time to react before a knee slammed into his gut.

WHAM.

Darin's vision went white.

He barely registered the feeling of being launched backward. His body crashed into the ground, skidding across the sand, leaving a trail of blood and dust.

The crowd gasped.

Vincent, sipping his tea, nodded approvingly. "Ah, yes. The traditional 'Darin Gets Wrecked' moment."

The Overlord sighed dramatically in Darin's mind.

"That was pathetic."

Darin groaned, spitting out blood. "Shut. Up."

Varian approached, blade gleaming.

"You're bleeding."

Darin wiped his mouth. "Oh wow, I hadn't noticed. Thanks for pointing that out, Captain Obvious."

Varian exhaled sharply. "I hate you."

"GOOD. MEANS I'M DOING SOMETHING RIGHT."

Darin staggered back to his feet. His whole body ached. His ribs screamed in protest.

But—

He had a plan.

And by "plan," he meant "really dumb idea that might work."

Varian charged.

Darin braced himself.

Varian swung his greatsword in a devastating, downward arc.

Darin did not move.

Vincent's teacup froze halfway to his lips. "Oh gods, he's doing something stupid."

The Overlord, for once, was silent.

Varian's blade connected.

Blood splattered.

The crowd screamed.

Darin let it happen.

The blade cut deep, but—

He was already swinging.

Before Varian could recover, Darin brought his warhammer up in a brutal, crushing arc—

Directly into Varian's shoulder.

CRUNCH.

Varian grunted in pain, staggering back.

His dominant arm dropped slightly.

Darin, panting, grinned despite the blood dripping down his side.

"Hah. Trade deal."

Darin was panting, blood dripping from various cuts on his arms, legs, and face. His grip on the warhammer was tight, but his body screamed at him to let go. He ignored it.

Varian, still standing tall and composed, rolled his injured shoulder with an irritated huff.

"You're reckless," the duke muttered. "Throwing your body at me like some mad beast."

Darin wiped blood from his mouth and grinned, despite everything. "And yet, I still hit you."

Varian's gaze darkened.

From the stands, Vincent whistled. "That's my boy, keep being annoying!"

The scribe, half-possessed with excitement, was writing furiously. "The Overlord, despite grievous wounds, continues his defiant stand! Truly, a legend in the making!"

From the noble stands, someone gasped dramatically. "Such vulgarity from the dark lord!"

Darin, still smiling weakly, flipped him off with a middle finger.

A random spectator threw popcorn. "KILL HIM, VARIAN!"

One of the cultists stood up and screamed, "SILENCE, NONBELIEVER! THE OVERLORD CANNOT FALL!"

This, of course, triggered the entire cult section into a screaming match with the duke's supporters.

Religious zealots from two different Overlord-worshipping factions pointed fingers at one another and descended into another theological argument.

"THE OVERLORD SHALL BRING THE END!"

"NO, FOOLS, HE SHALL BRING REBIRTH!"

"YOU'RE BOTH IDIOTS!"

"YOUR FACE IS AN ABOMINATION!"

"YOUR MOTHER WAS A DRUNKEN WITCH!"

Darin, barely holding himself together, groaned. "This is exhausting…"

Varian exhaled sharply.

"Enough," he said.

Darin blinked.

The arena went silent.

A wave of pure, crushing pressure rippled through the battlefield. The very air thickened, turning heavy and suffocating, like a hand had reached into his lungs and squeezed. The ground beneath Varian fractured in jagged, splintering cracks, veins of raw energy pulsing outward.

Darin felt something primal and instinctive scream at him to move. Run. Hide. Do anything but stay here.

He gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on the warhammer. "Oh, that's bad."

Vincent, watching from the sidelines, sat up straighter. "Ooooh, that's really bad."

The scribe, trembling but still writing, scribbled: The Duke, upon witnessing the Overlord's endurance, deems it necessary to unleash his true power!

Varian's aura flared violently, the sheer force of it sending spiraling waves of dust and sand outward in a growing storm.

Darin's breath hitched.

His body felt twice as heavy.

Varian's gaze locked onto him, sharper than before, like a predator that had grown tired of toying with its prey.

"I'm done playing around."

Then—

Varian vanished.

A blur of motion—Darin barely had time to register movement before—

CRACK.

A fist slammed into his gut.

Darin folded in half. His entire world flashed white.

A horrible, twisting pain erupted in his stomach, the kind that sent electric agony through his spine, like his ribs had just crumpled inward. His body lifted from the ground, weightless, before an earth-shattering force blasted him backward.

He hit the stone wall.

The wall exploded on impact.

Chunks of rock and dust collapsed around him. His body felt like a ragdoll tossed by a god, limbs heavy, nerves screaming.

The crowd gasped.

Vincent winced, pausing mid-sip of his tea. "Oof. That looked painful."

The scribe, writing at impossible speeds, whispered, "The Overlord is struck with divine fury—"

Darin coughed weakly from the rubble.

Varian was already there.

A brutal kick—

WHAM.

It crushed into his ribs, the impact shaking his entire frame. Something cracked—no, multiple somethings.

Darin barely registered the sensation of his body skidding across the battlefield like a stone skipping over water. Sand and dirt scraped against his skin.

He coughed up blood.

His vision blurred, swimming between light and dark.

Pain. Everywhere.

His chest throbbed with a deep, bone-rattling ache. His limbs refused to obey him.

Varian's footsteps were slow. Measured. Casual.

Darin forced his head up, blinking blood from his eyes. Varian walked toward him, sword resting on his shoulder, as if this weren't even a challenge.

"Your endurance is impressive," Varian admitted. "But it won't change the outcome."

Darin tried to push himself up.

His arms trembled.

His knees buckled.

The warhammer felt heavier than before, as if the weight of reality itself had been tied to it.

Varian loomed over him, the setting sun catching the sharp edges of his armor.

"This is over."

Darin grit his teeth, forcing his body to move. Move, damn it. MOVE.

His muscles spasmed. His arms refused to lift his own weight. He barely managed to shift to his knees before—

A boot drove into his chest.

The world crushed inward. His ribs, already bruised, screamed in protest as he was driven back into the ground.

He gasped for air. None came.

Varian crouched, his piercing gaze meeting Darin's from above. "You should've stayed down."

He stood again. Raised his blade.

Darin was out of time.

Out of strength.

Out of luck.

And then—

A voice echoed in his mind.

Smooth. Dark. Amused.

"Guess I'll take the wheel, then."

Darin's vision went black.